Thursday, June 5, 2008

"I hate songs about hobos"

said The Fiddle Player.

"Gee," said the parents, "perhaps you could overlook that fact for four minutes and 23 seconds and record a fiddle track for us even though you hate songs about hobos. After all, we financed years of fiddle lessons, paid to straighten your teeth and endured months of colic. Not that we're keeping a tab or anything."

The Fiddle Player took pity on us and gave us the track we needed to finish up the recording of "The Cardboard Sign."

Vocals: Craig Friedman

Fiddle: Annie Friedman

Back up vocals, guilt trip: Erin Friedman

The Cardboard Sign -- words and music by Erin Friedman

Saw him just ten miles southOf the Shasta County LineAn old hobo with his thumb outHoldin' up a Cardboard SignHis ragged jeans were washed in dirtHis flannel shirt was frayedOn his sign was a single wordMade me hit the brakes

Chorus:The Cardboard Sign he held to his chestTold the passers-by where he was headed nextThe lines on his face said “Weary to the bone”His eyes said “Please”His sign said “HOME”

Had a voice like an old dirt roadHad a hundred dusty storiesLadies, moonshine and rodeosFreight trains bound for gloryHe said, “There’s a price for runnin’ wildAnd I paid my dues in MemphisDid my time, made up my mindNow it’s time for mending fences”

The Cardboard Sign he held to his chestTold the passers-by where he was headed nextThe lines on his face said “Weary to the bone”His eyes said “Please”His sign said “HOME"

At the end of a gravel driveJust outside McCloudHe said “I’m much obligedHere’s where I get out”A woman waving from the porchCame running down to meet himI turned around and headed forThe place that I’d been leavin’

The Cardboard Sign he tossed on the seatWas a one-word lifeline that old man threw to meThe lines on his face said “Weary to the bone”His eyes said “Please”His sign said “HOME”

Saw him just ten miles southOf the Shasta COunty lineAn old hobo with his thumb outHoldin' up a Cardboard Sign